


The Crag and Key

by spaceylacey83



Series: Hearts and Minds [4]
Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, The fiddle!, drunkdancing! Bilbo, fiddle!Fíli, fiddle!Kili
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 18:45:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/613020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceylacey83/pseuds/spaceylacey83
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The company crashes a Laketown tavern.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Crag and Key

When Bofur the dwarf awakens on the company’s third day in Laketown, the very first thing he sees is Fíli. Bofur smiles sleepily because Fíli’s mouth is open and his hair is stuck to his cheek and he looks utterly silly and entirely too endearing with his face smushed up against his pillows like that. He also looks comfortable and comfortable sounds like something they all deserve to be after this trip. Bofur thinks that if things were perfect, right now, he would be in Fíli’s bed, or Fíli would be in his, instead of across the room from him and Ori’s snoring wouldn’t be providing the background music. He yawns lazily and turns his face into his pillow, ready to go back to sleep, and he realizes with bit of a smile that he can still smell Fíli here. So, really, it’s not that bad. Fíli isn’t here, but the wonderful, earthy scent of him is and Bofur now knows exactly what face his friend makes at the height of pleasure. All right, so it’s pretty close to perfect.

“No,” Ori mumbles, his voice thick with sleep, from across the room. “It’s too sticky here for dogs.”

Bofur sighs and pulls his blankets over his head.

When he wakes again, it is from some dream that he can’t remember. He assumes it was a good dream because he feels pretty good and is happy for no particular reason. 

He’s the only one in the room with two messy beds and Kíli’s which, as Bofur distinctly remembers suggesting would happen, doesn’t look like it’s been touched since they arrived. Bofur takes the time to make his own bed, neatly, and fluffs his pillows so they will be nice all over again when he is ready to go back to sleep. After, he makes quick work of washing up in the attractive marble basin and then spends a while in front of the mirror fiddling with his hair. He wouldn’t call himself a vain dwarf, but he is rather pleased with his reflection once he’s finished. It’s still a minor luxury, after all, being able to see what he’s doing to himself early in the morning and this, combined with whatever cheerful dream is still fading away, has him feeling very chipper by the time he leaves the bedroom, fully dressed and looking smart.

Bilbo and Kíli are wrapped around each other at the foot of the stairs when Bofur gets there, kissing each other and effectively blocking the path that will take Bofur towards breakfast. He tries to edge around without touching them and then backs up and clears his throat. 

The pair of them startle and separate and Bofur can’t help a self-satisfied little chuckle at the mortified looks on their faces. “Good morning, lads,” he greets, cheerfully, and continues on past toward the smell of fried sausages as the sound of nervous laughter fills the corridor in his wake.

Everyone else has beaten them to breakfast. Bofur’s heart does a funny little trip when he sees Fíli at the table, his golden hair shining in the early morning light, a slightly bored looking smile on his face as Gloin, across the table, indulges in his favorite pastime and brags about his son, back home. According to Gloin, this Gimli is the sun, moon, and stars and wipes his own arse, to boot. They have all heard very much about him and Bofur is sure that he knows nearly as much about the boy as the boy, himself, does. 

He drops down onto the bench beside Fíli who shows him a rather relieved smile. “Good morning, everyone. Say, Gloin?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t believe you’ve told us what size boot he wears, yet.”

Fíli chokes on his coffee and, across the table, Oin cackles rather obviously. Gloin huffs and fills his mouth with toast but seems to take the meaning behind Bofur’s good natured jab. Still feeling pleased with himself, Bofur reaches out and plucks a sausage from the plate in the center of the table and smiles around at his companions.

It’s going to be a good day.

***

“I think we should all get very drunk tonight,” Fíli announces later, while they sit with several of the others, watching Fíli’s brother and the hobbit at their swordplay. 

It’s going to be a _very_ good day.

“We can do that,” Bofur says. He even knows where they can do it. He had only barely stopped himself, that first night, from wandering into a rather raucous looking tavern on his way to Thorin’s guesthouse. As it was, Bofur had lingered so long in indecision that his guide had quite left him and had to double back to find him in the crowded streets.

“Shouldn’t we,” Fíli agrees. “I haven’t had anything real to drink since we left Rivendell.”

“At least you’ve given up that nonsense about staying in the bed,” Bofur says.

Fíli laughs and loops an arm around his shoulders. “First you say, ‘get out of the bed, Fíli,’ and then you make me never want to leave the bed, and then you complain about the bed again.” His impression of Bofur’s voice is mildly distracting. “I can’t keep up. I suppose I’ll just have to check with you to see which days are good bed days and which aren’t.”

“I don’t sound like that,” Bofur answers after a moment’s contemplation. Fíli only chuckles and leans on him a little more fully.

“You do sound like that,” he says, but there is a smile on his face that Bofur really likes quite a lot. 

“Ha! Ha _ha_!” They are interrupted by a triumphant shout from Bilbo and they both look up to see that he has a laughing Kíli on his back on the planks, sword aimed downward for the killing blow. “I got you,” he crows and, in a real battle, he would lose now because he punctuates his statement with a happy, circular, little dance before reaching down and helping his enemy off the ground.

The watching dwarves all applaud politely.

***

That afternoon, almost immediately after lunch, thirteen dwarves and one hobbit leave Thorin’s guesthouse and parade their way to the tavern, to the great excitement of the people of Laketown.

The Crag and Key is nearly as perfect as anything Bofur has ever seen. The tables are scratched and stained and dirty, the windows need a good scrub and even the light of the lamps has trouble penetrating the dust in the air. The whole place is dim and smells like the inside of Bofur’s boot and the boot, itself, sticks to the floor with every step he takes. The patrons are typical of this sort of establishment and they are all watching Thorin’s company with great interest. Bofur hasn’t felt this at home since leaving the Blue Mountains.

“Oh my,” says a small voice next to him and Bofur looks over to see Bilbo, fastidiously lifting one foot and then the other with a concerned look on his face. Bofur nudges him and shows him his very best smile.

“It’s character building,” he says, when the hobbit looks plaintively at the soles of his bare feet, but then Dwalin is pushing past them both and moving for one of the long, empty tables. Bofur gives Bilbo an encouraging slap on the back, slings his arm around Fíli’s shoulders and follows Dwalin.

They leave the seat at the head of the table open for Thorin and, together, they present a rather impressive (if rowdy) sight for the growing crowd in the tavern. Rounds are ordered and toasts are made to just about everyone and everything that any of them can think of, including, but not limited to, Thorin, Erebor, the company, Laketown, the establishment, the barmaid, the barmaid’s breasts, Bilbo’s feet, Bombur’s belly, and Kíli’s beard. The toasts get sillier with every round and every round calls for a toast. By the time they are toasting things like That Fellow Over There With The Harelip, they are all very well on the way to being drunk, except for Bilbo, who is already there, and Dwalin for whom the trip takes nearly an eternity. The hobbit is flushed and friendly and has been expounding on the virtues of a life full of good friends, good food, and good drink for several turns. Even Thorin is in unusually high spirits today and he humors the hobbit’s prattle with only a slightly strained air of graciousness while Kíli watches them both with a smirk on his face. Gloin, red-faced and a little louder than usual, is talking about his boy to Balin who is just about the only one in the company who actually wants to sit and listen anymore. Madge, their serving girl, is a plump little spitfire of a human woman with whom they manage to build a great rapport and she keeps their mugs full and shoos away curious townsfolk who prove to be too bothersome. Everyone is talking and laughing and Bofur’s so glad to be here right now that he could cry, if he did things like that. Laketown has done them an incredible amount of good in only a few days and, with a belly full of thick house mead and Fíli by his side, Bofur takes just a moment to feel sorry for the great beast awaiting them in the Lonely Mountain. 

Only a little, though.

“You haven’t said anything in a while,” Fíli observes, nudging him gently in the side. The already attractive dwarf seems to become more and more so the more Bofur drinks.

“I’m just watching everyone else talk,” Bofur says with a lazy smile, raising his mug and knocking it against Fíli’s. This starts another round of toasts, which they dedicate to Bofur’s hat, even though they have already toasted on this round once.

“Phew,” Fíli says, after, shaking his head as though he has water in his ears. “I believe that we’re on fifteen by now. I started counting… But I might be wrong because I didn’t start at the beginning and had to try and remember how many we’d already had.”

Bofur is slightly confused. “Drinks or toasts?”

“I think it’s been fifteen drinks and sixteen toasts.”

“Ah, the night is young, then.” Bofur’s record is much higher than that.

“Actually, I’m certain it’s still daylight.”

“Very observant of you, Master Fíli.” They are interrupted by Madge with the mead barrel and they lean back so that she can ladle more into their mugs. “Make sure you stay around until nightfall. There’ll be music and Mr. Thatcher sometimes pays for his supper with a tale or two.”

“ _Pfaugh_ ,” Bofur scoffs. “Love, if you want music and tales, you need look no farther. We have tales that would make hair grow on your chest and I have a lovely singing voice.”

“He really does,” Fíli adds, supportively.

Madge laughs at them. “I don’t know how badly I need hair on my chest. But…” She studies them for a moment. “Can you play the fiddle? Or the pipe?”

Bofur raises his arms and points out Fíli and then Kíli, who realizes that he is being talked about and perks up. “These two play a magnificent fiddle.”

“I love a good pipe,” says Bilbo, who is too deeply in his cups to pay attention properly.

So it is agreed that the company will chip a little off their tab by providing entertainment for the tavern’s patrons and once Madge has refilled all of their mugs they toast to that.

A fiddle, belonging to the owner of the establishment, is brought out and given first to Fíli who takes it eagerly, having lost his own during the scuffle with the goblins. He tests its tuning, adjusts it slightly, then gets to his feet and plays one long, clear note that silences and draws the attention of the other patrons nearly instantly.

“Ha,” he says, smiling round at all of the curious gazes and winking at Bofur. Then he launches into a merry tavern song that shortly has everyone clapping their hands and stomping their feet. Fíli makes quite an impressive figure up there, and Bofur is struck by how utterly happy he looks with a fiddle under his chin and a crowd of enthusiastic onlookers surrounding. He dances while he plays and occasionally laughs and Bofur feels a sort of secondhand pride that he can’t really share with anyone. That fine fellow is his lover. 

Fíli finishes his first song and takes a bow, and even though he hedges and plays with the crowd when they ask for more, Bofur can see that he is eating it up. He plays the first bouncing chords of an old dwarven drinking song and a few of the more intoxicated customers even get up to dance. Bilbo is one of these but, even as drunk as he is, he surprises them all by being rather good. The little fellow handles a jig like he actually knows what he’s doing and soon the crowd around them is doubled. 

A sort of game springs up between Bilbo and Fíli. Bofur can tell exactly when Fíli starts messing around with the hobbit, because he gets the most devilish smirk on his face and begins to scale his tempo upward, just slightly, with each refrain. Bilbo lets out a shout as he finds himself out of step and then hurriedly corrects for the change amid gales of good natured laughter. After that it quickly devolves into a battle, Bilbo trying to move his hairy feet as fast as Fíli can set the rhythm. As the music and the dancing speed up, the crowd begins to cheer and clap in earnest. Game or not, both performers are showing off some impressive skill and when Bilbo finally signals his surrender by throwing up his arms and sitting right on the dirty floor, everyone hoots and hollers and applauds for him. Even Fíli stops playing to clap his hands and laugh and when he offers the hobbit a hand up off the floor, their audience cheers for them once more. Laughing, the pair takes a bow so low that Fíli has to pull the drunken hobbit back up with him all over again.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” Kíli shouts over the commotion when Bilbo returns to his seat on the bench, but the hobbit is too out of breath to respond.

After that, the crowd gathered at the Crag and Key buys all of the drinks that the company can hold and their supper, too, once evening rolls around. The company keeps their end of the bargain with more songs and tales of their adventure that only have to be exaggerated slightly. Kíli gets the opportunity to showcase his skills with the fiddle, as well. Where Fíli’s playing had been cocky and buoyant, Kíli’s is sweet and stirring. He calms everyone down with a meandering, peaceful tune and then plays a heartbreaking dwarven lay from the Blue Mountains while Bofur sings the words in old Khuzdul. There’s barely a dry eye in the house when they are done and Bofur spots Madge wiping her face with her apron. It sets the tone beautifully for Old Balin’s quiet retelling of the fall of Erebor. Even though Bofur doubts anyone in this town has allowed that day to be forgotten, they all hang off of Balin’s every word. Even the owner of the place comes out of the backroom for the first time that night to lean against the bar with Madge and listen.

It is well into the night before the company takes their leave and only after they have been thanked profusely by staff and patron alike and made promises to return. Bofur gets slapped on the back so many times that it would probably start to hurt if he was sober. None of them are, though. Even Dwalin has a bit of a wobble in his step and Bilbo is practically being carried by Kíli and Oin. Fíli and Bofur link arms and lean on each other, carefully navigating the wooden pathways. 

“You know, Bofur,” Fíli says after they have been walking for a moment. Bofur feels a tug on his arm as Fíli’s steps slow to a stop and he teeters dangerously for a moment before collecting himself and sidling up next to Fíli again. The other dwarf has his neck craned back all the way and is staring silently at the sea of silver stars in the sky. Bofur turns his head back as well but his hat falls off and he has to bend over to collect it. 

“I really thought you were going to say something to me,” he prods once he has retrieved the hat.

“Yes.” Fíli says, and then falls silent again. When Bofur actually physically prods him, he carries on with, “we’ve slept under so many starry skies, recently, but it’s only when I am given a roof to get back under that I actually want to stay out and watch them.”

Bofur doesn’t know quite what to say to that, but it makes him smile a bit as he watches Fíli’s profile, lit by starlight. He simply slips his arm around Fíli’s waist while the younger dwarf stares thoughtfully upward and for a while they just stand there, together, and watch the stars in the sky. It’s almost a strange sensation, the feeling of being safe and drunk and happy. It’s been so long since his life has resembled anything close to normal: a simple evening at the tavern with friends, a late night walk through town with someone beloved to him.

“Do you think we can do this, Bofur?” Fíli surprises him with the question and the slight waver in his voice when he asks it. “Do you really think we can take back Erebor from a _dragon_?”

“What’s this, now,” Bofur asks, taken aback. “What happened to the tens of thousands of books in Erebor, or luck and fate?”

Fíli shakes his head and looks back at the sky. The lines of his face are troubled though, and Bofur doesn’t like it so he takes a moment to really consider Fíli’s question and how he might go about answering it. He leads Fíli over to a large wooden planter and sits with him on the edge of it.

“I think that this is going to be one of the hardest things we ever do,” Bofur says, finally. Fíli’s expression is still utterly serious so, he takes a deep breath and continues. “I’m worried that we’re not all going to make it out of this, to be honest. You don’t really let yourself consider it all that much, do you? But it’s there. Sometimes, I tell myself that I’m a fool for coming here. I’m not really much of a warrior anymore, you know. I’m a toymaker. I make toys, for the love of stone, and I’m gearing up to wander off into a dragon’s lair.” He lets out a humorless little laugh and looks down as he feels Fíli’s hands slipping into his own. “I’ve had to stop asking myself if we can do it, though. Because I don’t like that answer and it doesn’t really give me any hope. What I’ve started asking myself is, ‘is it worth it to try?’ And the answer to that is always, ‘yes.’”

They share a long look, Fíli’s blue eyes searching, and then the younger dwarf nods his head. “You’re right, of course.”

“Come on,” Bofur says, getting to his feet and pulling Fíli with him. “There’s a lovely warm bed waiting for the both of us.”

They walk arm in arm back toward the house. Poor, dear Ori is sound asleep, fully dressed in a chair in the entry hall and, once they’ve snickered at him for a moment, Bofur realizes the potential implications of this.

“You know,” he says, giving Fíli’s arm a bit of a squeeze. “That’s Ori.”

“Too right,” Fíli agrees, and gives him a funny look.

“And your brother has been sleeping in Bilbo’s room… If he’s there tonight, that’s both of our roommates gone.” 

“Oh,” Fíli answers, catching on. Bofur is pleased to see a rather suggestive grin starting on his face.

They hurry together to the door of their shared bedroom and, when they find it empty, Fíli smirks wickedly and pulls Bofur close to him. 

***

When Bofur the dwarf awakens on the company’s fourth day in Laketown, the first thing he sees is Fíli. Fíli’s hair is in disarray and his mouth is open and his face is smushed but he’s right there in Bofur’s bed and the sight makes him smile sleepily. Ori, presumably still sleeping in the entryway, isn’t here to snore or mumble.

Life for a member of Thorin’s company is full of twists and turns and the occasional bout of painful uncertainty and Bofur can admit that he doesn’t know where he’ll be when all is said and done. For now, though, it is a perfect morning and Bofur isn’t going to worry about anything but that.


End file.
